


Spideypool Bingo Works 2020

by Jennicide (yenyen)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pet Store, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Video Game World, Bad Jokes, Existential Crisis, First Kiss, I Know It's Capcom and Not Konami but I Don't Care, Light Bondage, M/M, Marvel Vs Capcom 3, Mexican vs Puerto Rican Food, Shibari, Something Fishy About All These Jokes, Spideypool Bingo 2020, The Moral Is That All Hispanic Food Is Great, You'll Figure That Untranslated One Out Sooner Or Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yenyen/pseuds/Jennicide
Summary: A collection of works written to complete a bingo on my round 1 prompt card for the Spideypool Bingo 2020. Individual titles, ratings, summaries, and notes are included in each chapter. These prompts are for a "mixed bag" card, so they may range from G to E ratings. Nothing worse than T so far... SO FAR.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 29
Kudos: 71
Collections: Spideypool Bingo 2020 Round 2





	1. All Tied Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Shibari  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Summary:** Wherein _someone_ gets tied up… and finds they like it.  
>  **Notes:** Kinbaku (緊縛) means "tight binding," whereas Kinbaku-bi (緊縛美) literally means "the beauty of tight binding.”

* * *

His eyes are covered, the room is dark, and all he can hear is the harshness of his own breathing. How long has he been here like this? Have minutes passed? Hours? How much longer will he have to wait?

He twists against the ropes surrounding him. It’s a foreign sensation, being tied up like this. Lately, he’s not on the receiving end of this kind of treatment and that’s probably what makes the whole situation all the more delicious.

There are multiple well-forged knots, lovingly tied, all over his body. They’re patterned over his chest, abdomen, and groin… there are even some in places where none should be, stimulating things they shouldn’t. He licks his lips and struggles some more. The ropes creak with every movement but refuse to give. In fact, the more he fights them, the more aggressively they seem to want to cling. It’s terrifying and alarming but in a safe way, very similar to a thrill seeker zipping along on a roller coaster, or so he tells himself.

This is a controlled environment. He’s entrusted himself to knowledgeable and safe hands. He knows he’ll be fine and that’s the only thought in the back of his mind that allows him to breathe through his steadily rising panic as the seconds continue to slowly tick by.

He’d been so gentle when they first began preparing for this, gingerly suggesting the idea, being sure to describe every single step in explicit detail so that there would be no surprises or discomfort. From there, time was spent deftly securing him with a surprisingly well-maintained collection of ropes. Each strand of the fine nylon had been carefully braided by hand to ensure nothing snagged or caught. The way they felt, almost alive as they coiled their way around his flesh, tucking and gathering him up in the tightest of holds... it made him shiver just thinking back on how he’d been bound and left here.

_“They call it Shibari in the West, but did you know it’s actually known as Kinbaku in Japan? Something this elaborate, though, would be referred to as Kinbaku-bi, or the beauty of tight binding.”_

_An interesting bit of trivia; one fascinating enough that it momentarily distracts him from the way his legs are being positioned. “Is there a reason for that?”_

_“For what?” comes the reply and then the thick of his thigh is being strapped down to his lower leg. The position isn’t impossible, but it’s also not very comfortable if they’re going to be at this for a long period of time. His own comfort had been a big part of their conversation prior to actually acting out this fantasy and while he knows he can use his safe word - more like a phrase - at any time, he doesn’t want to unless it’s absolutely necessary._

_That’s not just because it’s too difficult to remember but mostly because he’s not a quitter._

_“The name change?”_

_His other leg is propped and secured into place by a second rope, leaving him spread-eagled on his knees._

_“Hmm, dunno,” is the answer he receives. “Was probably too hard for them to remember like everything else AZN in nature. Speaking of remembering…”_

_Now his arms are being gathered up and a single loose loop of rope is being woven around his wrists. The tails of the twine get snaked along the inside of his elbows and decoratively lain atop the outside of his upper arms. That end is then threaded behind the back of his neck, and his other wrist is wound in much the same way as the first had been. The rope finishes by knotting both of his wrists together in a mock prayer pose._

_The binding here is deceptively less restrictive than the ropes around his legs, but he knows that’s just a pretense. All of these ropes are meant to limit his movement and all of them are expertly tied to make sure he can’t escape without resorting to real force._

_“Do you remember our little safe word?”_

_“Word?” he scoffs. “You mean that ridiculously long phrase you expect me to remember?”_

_There’s a little bit of laughter he can hear behind his back as another, longer set of ropes get flung over his shoulders. “It’s not that difficult… and you’re plenty smart! Now, repeat after me: Yah. May. Tay.”_

_“I’m… I’m not going to say it,” he refuses._

_“Tsk, suit yourself, but I thought it was a great idea!” The remainder of the rope along his back is threaded under his armpits and delicately criss-crossed over his chest with perfectly spaced knots that form diamond patterns down his abdomen and then…_

_“What’re you doing?”_

_“You’ll see,” is the only warning he gets before he’s violently tipped forward. The ropes securing his legs make the new position incredibly awkward. Something is touching his… why is there even pressure happening down there!? And now it’s intensified as he feels ropes sliding through his legs and a knot being tied next to… what even!? He squawks as he’s resettled back on his butt with something rather uncomfortable pushing into a place where nothing is supposed to be. It almost feels like he’s sitting on a very pointy rock; one slip too far forward or backward could be disastrous._

_“What did you just do!?”_

_That’s when the blindfold makes an appearance, when he’s at his weakest and can’t prevent his sight from being taken away._

_“Just remember:_ **_yamete oshiri ga itai_ ** _when you’ve had enough!”_

_He then hears the light switch flick and all that’s left in the darkness is him and the ropes._

Which brings him back to his current situation, writhing on the floor, struggling to remember why he even agreed to this in the first place. He thinks that if he could focus a little better, he might actually be able to talk himself down, but that incessant knot rubbing him under his rump is making logical thought much harder than it should be. He rolls over onto his side, trying to alleviate the pressure, and keens when it digs in deeper.

Surely his time is up by now, and he’s been so good not calling out to end this… even now, he still doesn’t want to despite his bindings being a literal pain in the ass.

So when the door finally creaks open, however much time later, Peter can’t help but sigh in relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to SanaTomb for beta-reading.


	2. Res Cogitans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Android AU  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Summary:** In the future, some androids don’t know they’re androids until something catastrophic happens to their very inhuman bodies. It’s also not uncommon for them to act on impulsive decisions when everything they’ve ever believed to be real is suddenly not. That’s where Doctor Parker comes in.  
>  **Notes:** Inspired by the short story, _The Electric Ant_ , written by Philip K. Dick.

* * *

  
When Wade woke up, it was in a sterile looking room, covered up to the neck in a white sheet that was discolored in red, yellow, and questionable black fluids. He went to move his right arm but found it didn’t respond. His left shoulder, on the other hand, did shrug and caused the thin sheet to slide down off his chest, revealing exactly why his right side wasn’t working properly. His entire right arm was missing and out from the stump were dribbling streams of what appeared to be blood… and oil. The skin around his wound was blistered and charred.

Upon closer inspection to the rest of his body, there were numerous injures littered all over his skin. Sections of flesh were missing, damaged, and oozing various secretions. He might have been horrified if he could feel any of it. And wasn’t that weird, how nothing seemed to hurt? Shouldn’t he be attended by a nurse or a physician for something like this? Was it normal for grievously injured people to be without proper care in what appeared to be a hospital facility?

Maybe he should shout for someone to come and tell him what the hell was going on. Were they really going to leave him like this? Before he could finish sucking in a breath to start ranting and raving at the top of his lungs, the door propped open and a young looking man in a white lab coat with messy brown hair walked in. His eyes were downturned looking over a series of papers attached to a clipboard while his fingers were shifting through them as he walked.

“Who ar-”

“Dr. Parker, but you can call me Peter if you’d like,” was the hasty reply he received.

“But-”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Peter said, as he approached the table. “There doesn’t have to be any trivial formality between the likes of us.”

“Oh,” Wade quietly replied. “What… uh, what happened?”

“You were in a horrible accident.”

Wade attempted to move his right arm stump again only to force more fluid out. “So I gathered,” he sassed and turned a glare on his new visitor. “But why isn’t anyone tending to this uh… you know,” he intelligently tacked on.

“Because,” Peter began, finally looking up from the clipboard. His eyes were the color of finished cedar, and Wade couldn’t help but be captivated by his gaze as it roved mechanically over his mess of a body. “You’re not going to die from the injuries you’ve sustained. A normal human being would have already succumbed to the amount of trauma you’ve experienced… but you, of course, are anything _but_ normal.”

“Is this the part where you’re going to tell me that’s because I’m some sort of freak of nature?”

“Not exactly… more like you’re not human, have never even been human for all your known existence.”

“That’s…” The new realization startled Wade enough that he nearly toppled off the examination table he’d been laid out on. “That’s impossible! I have an ex-wife and a daughter! I had parents too, even though they were both total shitheads, how could I be… _inhuman_ if I remember things like that?” He may have been getting a little hysterical, so what? But honestly, would anyone else have let some nerdy medical looking kid come in and tell them they weren’t a real person just because there happened to be an odd occurrence of unexplainable events affecting him? It didn’t matter that he couldn’t feel the pain of his injuries or that he was somehow still alive after being involved in a supposedly catastrophic incident.

Wade Winston Wilson _thought_ he knew who he was.

“Negative,” the person before him corrected. “What you’re remembering are implanted false memories of a life alongside other fictional people. Neither you nor the man you were, nor the people _he_ knew were ever real. This is very common actually,” Peter continued, “though I’m sure you might be unaware, and I’d like you to know that there’s no need to distress yourself further over-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow your fucking roll! You’re saying I’m some kind of robbie?”

A robbie was the slang used to describe an android, one who served their owner with the illusion of free will. They were little better than digitized slaves.

Wade was his own man. He didn’t think he’d ever belonged to someone else.

“That’s… not quite right,” Peter assured him. “A robbie belongs to another person. You on the other hand,” he went back to flipping through his paperwork. “It would appear you own yourself.”

“How does that even make sense!?” Wade started fidgeting again but only managed to tangle the sheet further with his badly functioning legs. Their vast network of malfunctioning myo-muscle seized inappropriately from the poor signal originating in his motor processing unit. All he succeeded in doing was tearing the fabric covering him.

“It looks like you did have an owner once, a man named Franci-”

“Don’t say their name,” Wade warned sharply.

“Very well. You had _an owner_ once, but they are now deceased. You were never willed to anyone and this person had no next of kin to inherit you through their estate, so you technically own yourself.”

“Why would he… why would someone-”

“Make you? Order you? Design you?” Peter offered many possible endings to that question, all of which were perfectly good. Wade nodded to signify he wanted to know all of those reasons and more. “I can’t say,” the man simply shrugged. “Why do people _do_ anything?”

Touché. That was a good question in itself.

“Now then,” Wade’s caretaker hummed, “since you are not a human being, there isn’t very much we can do for an android such as yourself in this hospital. Your circuitry has been very badly damaged, and you’re leaking copious amounts of lubricant and artificial hematoflu. If these leaks are not contained within the next few hours, your inner bionics will cease to function and you will, truly, no longer exist… until, of course, someone opts to repair you. But then you will forfeit any ownership over yourself and become that person’s property”

“You indirectly askin’ if I’m good to cover my own bill before you _assist_ me?”

“Basically,” Peter deadpanned. “I’m the resident case manager for androids such as yourself who have never known they weren’t human. That is until they have some sort of accident, which suddenly reveals that are not. We get a couple in each month, and I am obligated to tell you truthfully that this facility isn’t going to waste its time transferring you out for repairs you can’t afford to pay and/or go through the hassle of ensuring you are sent for repairs if you’re just going to cease your functionality on your own in the end.”

“ _End myself_ you mean,” Wade snorted like the idea of suicide, even when he’d thought himself a man, had never occurred to him. “Robbies do that, huh?”

“Androids, not robbies. And yes, many often do when they find out about their… existence. Some of them react the same as humans, cycling through emotions like denial or anger. Others might make threats of violence, to themselves or towards others… nearly all of those who do typically turn to self-harm as a means of coping. But you…” Peter trailed off. “You seem to be adjusting unusually well to this news today, given your specific circumstance.”

“What other choice do I have?” Wade asked and watched as Peter reached into his pocket to take out a small handheld communications device.

“What choice do any of us have, really?” Peter countered. “Human or not, did any of us ever ask to be made?”

“Never been truer words said,” Wade mused aloud and listened attentively as Peter finally managed to connect to another staff member and begin the transfer process over to an android repair facility for one semi-functional unit ID’ed as W. W. Wilson.  
  


* * *

  
A few weeks later, Wade was good as new.

Well, nearly. He’d opted to reattach his missing limb and repair all of his damaged circuit connectors, but had yet to take the time or money necessary to regraft nicer skin over his previously mutilated bioflesh. All of the open capillaries had been cauterized to staunch the hematoflu bleed; another painless procedure for him since his smartchip had turned off his pseudo neuronetwork. And for the most part, the remaining open wounds caused by his accident were attempting to heal by second intent rather nicely.

The android repair facility had warned him, though a cheaper option, this could cause whatever flesh that remained to grow back poorly and scarred in appearance. It really would have been best if he paid to receive a new coating of bioflesh, they insisted. Too bad for them that since he’d learned he was an android, Wade stopped giving any fucks about his life or looks.

Wade had been a successful muscle for hire, aka debt collector, back when he’d believed himself to be human, and he’d still been able to return to work shortly after his accident - one long disconcerting look from his boss aside. His new bionic arm and jacked appearance only added to his naturally high intimidation factor. Working now was like rolling a natural 20 - massive success rates all around because every single one of his targets were quick to realize there’d never be an end to him even if they retaliated.

So really, the only thing that kept Wade from seeking out additional repairs was the principle of keeping his own illusion of _realness_ real to himself.

He still went to work, he still got paid, and he still lived his life in much the same way as he had before but now there were fewer social obligations he felt inclined to keep. He didn’t bother to think about the people he thought existed in his life before he’d found out that he was an android. Wade Winston Wilson only existed for himself now.

The thought that nothing else mattered was both beautiful and terrifying. He was truly free.

That is, until Dr. Parker contacted him requesting a follow-up consultation.

“I see you’re back to work now,” his voice rang out over Wade’s pocket size comm unit. “Looks like you’ve gotten a majority of those suggested repairs completed, too. But you refused the reapplication of new bioflesh… any particular reason why?”

“Are we gonna play 20 questions over the phone or did you call me for a reason?”

“There is a reason, actually,” came the haughty sounding reply. So it would appear that Peter was human after all. “It’s part of my protocol that I check-in with you two weeks post-transfer. I’d like to meet with you again, face-to-face, if that’s all right.”

Wade reclined back in his small kitchen chair. Since the incident, he hadn’t bothered to tidy up after himself as much. What was the point? Bacteria and other miscellaneous microorganisms couldn’t harm him anyway.

“Any reason why?”

“For?”

“Why you’re so determined to see me again?”

The comm link hummed quietly, and Wade imagined he could hear Dr. Parker breathing on the other end. He pointedly looked down at his own chest. It rose and fell with the intake of breath his neuronetwork was programmed to signal. Though the action itself was designed to make him appear human, he didn’t really need oxygen to live.

“I have… questions,” came a muted reply. “You’re one of the only androids I’ve ever been charged with who has not either threatened itself or others. I’m… curious… you might say, why that is.”

“Well,” Wade drawled out, “that information is classified and only the highest form of bribery will grant you access.”

“Oh?”

Wade smirked at how easy this would be.

“Tell you what,” he smiled into his comm unit. “You meet me three days from now at 20:00 hours in El Puente, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

“Is there a catch?” Peter didn’t seem particularly fazed at his attempt to barter for information.

“Yeah, yer payin’.”  
  


* * *

  
Three days later and Dr. Parker was back. They were seated in a shadowy alcove far away from prying eyes but that probably had more to do with Wade’s looks than their actual reason for being at the restaurant in the first place.

Wade propped open his menu and started making suggestions for his company. All of his pleasantries were met with silence.

“Something the matter?” He closed his menu around his skinless bionic thumb.

Dr. Parker just shook his head and retrieved his own menu. “No, nothing. I’m just… fascinated by the fact that you know you’re an android and yet are still consuming organic matter.”

“It’s called food.”

“Right,” Peter amended. “Food. Why not switch to slurry formulas instead to maintain your bioflesh? I imagine the cost of doing so would be much-”

“Cheaper?” Wade interrupted. Peter nodded at him. “Oh yeah, sure, probably. But maybe I’m just a big glutton who likes the taste of food and has the means to afford it. Why doesn’t your kind switch to ingesting tasteless nutrients if it’s so _optimal_?”

Peter shrugged, “Maybe we’re also gluttons who enjoy the taste of food and have the means to afford it.”

Wade pursed his lips at that. Sarcasm was supposed to be his shtick, and while it was cute to see his case manager or whatever he was trying it on for size, it looked much better on himself.

A waitress came and took their orders. She was courteous enough, smiled a lot, but all Wade could wonder was if she was a robbie as well. How many people lived in this city and didn’t even know they weren’t real? How did they go on living their lives once they knew? Surely Wade wasn’t the only oddball that Peter was making him out to be.

“Now then,” Peter redirected Wade’s attention back onto their reason for meeting by pulling out a personal sized digipad with a stylus. “It would appear that you’ve reintegrated back into casual society well but tell me, and be honest please, have you noticed an occurrence or increase in intrusive thoughts?”

Wade quirked a ruined eyebrow at that question. “An example of that would be?”

“Harm to others or harm to yourself,” Peter explained and began to tap away at the tablet. Even outside of his white doctorly coat, he still appeared very clinical.

“Nope,” Wade chirped and reached to grab his complimentary glass of water.

“You’re certain?”

“Why are you so concerned?” Wade tipped back his glass for a swig and placed it back on the table heavily.

“You really don’t realize how different you are, do you?”

Wade shook his head and let go of the glass.

Peter sighed and turned his gaze back towards the dining area where other people (or unaware androids) were eating and conversing. “If you’re being honest, then so will I. You’re my first case to make it past three weeks.”

“And that means…?”

“You know what it means,” Peter replied sharply. “By now, all of my cases would have done one of three things: one, they would have tried to retaliate against their owners and been forcibly reformatted or dismantled; two, _they_ would have voluntarily gone to a repair facility to demand they be reformatted...”

“And three?” Wade asked, now curious to see what Peter would say.

“They would have voluntarily ceased their functions.”

Of course that’s what they would have done, Wade recalled Dr. Parker telling him as much back in the sterile white room weeks before.

A similar morbid thought had occurred to him, too, when he’d watched the repair technicians remove his entire right shoulder joint from the socket and replace it with a brand new bionic, connectors and all. He even recalled being conscious for the opening of his chest panel to gain access to the pseudo neuronetwork that controlled all of his higher functional programming. It had been mesmerizing seeing how all of the bits and pieces of his body unfurled at a simple impulse key’s touch; those items were highly confidential pieces of tech that belonged only to specific android manufacturing and repair companies. No one other than an officially licensed tech facility was supposed to have access to hardware like that.

But that only tempted Wade more… what would it be like to open himself up and play around with the components inside? Surely it wouldn’t hurt, as nothing else had before the tech had keyed back in the capacity for neuralgia. Wade disliked that pain had returned to him, but it was necessary to protect what little of his viable bioflesh remained. Either way, the impulse key had caused a series of dark desires to grow in him after his repair. Was he really any different than those other robbies when most of his free time was spent thinking about dying and living in equal measures?

“I wouldn’t worry,” Wade intoned as he caught sight of their waitress making her way back towards their table, her arms covered in plates. “My thoughts are more or less the same as they were before the incident… I feel a lot less guilt for being out of touch with the ex-wife and daughter since they’re just figments of my programmed imagination.”

The waitress set down three large dishes in front of Wade and one with a more modest portion in front of Peter.

“I just,” Wade paused mid-grab for his fork, “I just don’t think about _being,_ I guess. I think I exist and… that’s good enough for me.”

“Descartes,” he overheard Peter whisper in between taking large bites from his many plates.

“Gesundheit?”

“No,” Peter smiled faintly before finally setting down the stylus and reaching for his own silverware to proceed picking at his meal. “Descartes was a very famous philosopher in the 1600’s who is credited with the phrase, ‘ _I think, therefore I am.’_ It’s a philosophical proof that bases the idea of existence for a person on their capacity to think for themselves, which in turn means they must necessarily exist - res cogitans.”

“Wouldn’t know,” Wade shrugged his bionic shoulder and shoveled more food into his mouth. As long as he didn’t examine it too hard, eating didn’t feel any different than it had before the accident. He could still enjoy simple pleasures such as this.

Peter placed his fork back down on his plate. “I’d like to check in with you again in a few more weeks, if that’s all right?”

“Oh?” Wade finished chewing a rather large bite and swallowed.

“And, in addition, I’d be agreeable to covering the costs of your… _fees_ in return for your compliance.”

That got Wade smiling. Now there was something else for him to think about outside of himself.  
  


* * *

  
They met for more meals in the following months, and each time Wade saw Dr. Parker, their interactions seemed to become more and more… human. Maybe it was because the doctor wanted to get on Wade’s good side so that he could continue to extract valuable information from him, or maybe it was because he was genuinely curious in what Wade represented as an outlier from his kind.

Either way, Peter never forgot to mention how amazed he still was to see Wade show up for every single one of their little dinner dates. And never one to disrupt a ritual, Wade always hit him with his own line in return.

_Really? Who’s stupid enough to turn down free food?_

It was meant to be humorous, but it was also true. And maybe the food was only a small part of the reason Wade kept coming back for more… he could admit there was something about Peter’s company that he enjoyed as well.

During their most recent meal, Wade found himself admitting his dark desire to take a peek inside himself to Peter. The fact that he’d deemed Wade special, something worthy of his continued time and research, only made Wade more curious about what set him apart from all the others.

“I was thinking one of these days I might try and get my hands on an impulse key… finally see what makes me tick, plus I could turn off that annoying pain emulator. I’d rather just feel pressure tha-”

Both of Peter’s hands slammed down on the table, his fork falling to the floor.

“No,” he told him in an ominous tone.

“What difference would it make if-”

“No,” he repeated, the furrow in between Peter’s brows deepened as he fixed Wade with the most serious expression he’d ever seen on the other man’s face. “You shouldn’t do that. Hav... how long have you been thinking about this?”

“Does it matter?” Wade asked, still eating like there was nothing wrong. He couldn’t understand why the idea of this was so upsetting for Peter. It wasn’t like he planned on tinkering with anything he found inside… much. He was just curious. If Dr. Parker wanted to be mad with anyone for the origin of these thoughts, he should be mad at the programmer who’d coded Wade this way.

“Of course it does.” Peter lowered his head and gripped the edge of the table harder, his knuckles whitening. “You were doing so well…” Wade heard him mutter under his breath.

“If you’re worried I’ll do something stupid, I promis-”

Peter head shot up. “Yes,” he sounded almost desperate. “Promise me.”

Wade set his fork down as all traces of humor fell away from his face.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Peter’s posture suddenly got defensive.

“Why do I need to promise you this? What difference would it make?”

He watched the doctor slowly release his hold on the table and slide his chair back to reach for the digipad he had put away before their food arrived. There were a lot of different emotions to unpack in the expressions that played across Peter’s face, but Wade refused to read into any of them. He needed to hear him tell Wade directly why he must do this thing.

“Because you’re important.”

“To your research?”

He thumbed the digipad on and reached for his stylus with the other. “If I say no, would you call me a liar?”

“Probably,” Wade leaned back in his chair and sucked his teeth. “I know that studying me, a freak one-off robbie, is going to make you famous someday, so you can’t really lie and say that’s not the main reason you’re so interested in me.”

“That… that’s a part of it, but there’s something else.”

“Oh?” Wade grabbed his glass of water and drained it. “What else?”

“Just promise me, and we’ll talk about it the next time I see you.” The tips of his ears were pinkening in the dim light of the restaurant. It was… endearing. Wade let out a long drawn out sigh and leaned forward to resume eating his meal.

“Yeah, alright,” he forced down another bite. “I promise not to do anything on the condition that the next time we meet, you explain to me why it matters to you what I do, deal?”

Peter nodded and didn’t argue when Wade flagged down their usual waitress to get Peter a new fork. He made some more notes in his digipad before he put it away again.  
  


* * *

  
That night, when he returned back to his living complex, Wade did something he hadn’t done in a long time. He dreamed, but more importantly, he remembered what it was he had dreamt.

In his dream, he saw Peter. They were in a restaurant, the same one they always frequented when Dr. Parker met with him to conduct his questionnaires. But this time, something was different; Peter was _alive._ His face lit up at something that Wade had said but couldn’t hear, and he watched the reflection of the dining room lights glint in the warm brown of Peter’s eyes.

His smile was beautiful, and it was for Wade. When he looked at Peter, really examined him, he realized there was no digipad, no stylus, and most shockingly of all, nothing in his expression that said their meeting was anything more than two people genuinely enjoying one another’s company.

 _But I’m not real,_ Wade heard himself echo.

Peter chose that moment to reach across the table and place his left hand atop Wade’s right. Attention now drawn back to himself, Wade noticed it wasn’t bionic. The flesh looked much the same as it had before his accident. He rotated his wrist to lock his fingers with Peter’s and made him smile wider.

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but like before, no sound came out. Wade never got a chance to ask him to repeat himself because the dream ended.

He sat up in bed, his remaining bioflesh prickling at the sensation of cold air circulating in his apartment. Not only had he forgotten to cover himself, he’d also forgotten to turn the conditioning unit down. Positioning his feet flat on the floor, Wade reached for his personal comm unit and checked the date and time. Only hours had passed since he’d last seen Dr. Parker, but his dream remained so vivid.

Their typical meeting schedule was once every three to four weeks. Peter always contacted him first, but Wade didn’t know if he was patient enough to wait that long.

Being real had never mattered before, which was probably why discovering he wasn’t in the first place had come as no big shock to Wade. But Peter… in the restaurant earlier and in his dream just now, Wade realized that Peter was beginning to see _him_ as real. His sudden upset at the mention of Wade fiddling with his inner mechanics, the red staining the tips of his ears, and his obvious discomfort for the remainder of their meal… it all made sense now with new context foreshadowed in his dream.

In fact, had Peter ever referred to Wade as an it? The android maintenance techs certainly had when he’d been laid out on the repair slab, arm missing and chest wide open when he’d been helpless and vulnerable in every way imaginable.

Wade had never bothered to ask about Peter’s notes but now he wanted to see them. He needed to know if he mattered, if he was _real_ to someone else.

He didn’t hesitate to message Peter, asking to meet with him again tomorrow. _I’ll pay this time,_ his comm unit displayed before he tapped the transmission key.

_You think, therefore I am._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [doctoring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctoring/pseuds/Doctoring) for beta-reading.


	3. ↑ ↑ ↓ ↓ ← → ← → B A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Free Space  
>  **Rating:** (P?)G  
>  **Summary:** A kid walks into an arcade and sets in motion one of the most epic friend ~~relation~~ ships in the history of fighting games.  
>  **Notes:** Inspired by a what-if scenario in a Wreck-It-Ralph type universe where arcade characters know they’re in a video game but still manage to have lives of their own once the players go home. The title is a cheat code that appears in many Konami and some non-Konami games to enable a cheat and/or other effects.

* * *

The arcade opened just shy of eleven ‘o clock, prime time on a weekday for kids in the summertime looking for a way to waste a day and beat the heat indoors. The owner watched as a flood of children, a mix of middle-schoolers and high-schoolers, wandered around the floor looking for just the right game to start spending their hard-earned allowance on.

He was pretty pleased with his offerings, an assortment of American and Japanese titles he’d collected over the years. His newest addition had been plugged in just the night before, a Marvel Vs. Capcom 3 mod he’d paid to have housed in a traditional arcade cabinet. While Tekken and Street Fighter were gold standards for any fighting game enthusiast, he felt that including a newer series featuring familiar Marvel characters would be a wise investment. Superhero movies were quickly becoming all the rage these days.

“You got change for a twenty?” A pre-teen asked, stepping up alongside the owner and pointing at a coin changer. It clearly stated not to feed it any bills larger than a five.

“Sure!” The owner reached into his fanny pack and pulled out a handful of smaller bills.

“Got any new games?” The kid asked as the owner thumbed through the money a second time. They exchanged cash, and the owner nodded in the direction of his latest cabinet. “Oh yes,” he said excitedly. “If you like fighting games, I highly recommend that one!”

It was enough of a push to get the kid intrigued to wander over and spend their first two tokens after they’d finished changing out their money. The interface of the game flashed through an assortment of various Marvel and Capcom characters. What made it so novel was that a player could choose up to three fighters from any franchise to create a single team. It didn’t matter if their characters were good, bad, or otherwise. In the end, the kid chose Captain America, Spider-Man, and Deadpool.

Fifteen dollars worth of tokens later, the final boss was defeated, and the kid was eagerly tapping in their initials as the machine’s first high score. The rest of the day went by smoothly after that, the arcade cabinet drawing a decent crowd on its debut. Though a few other challengers got close, no one managed to beat the first player’s score, and their team of Captain American, Spider-Man, and Deadpool flashed across the screen until the owner closed up the arcade for the night.

As was his usual habit, he kept the power on overnight to lessen the amount of time it would take to reboot everything for the start of the weekend crowd when he reopened at nine a.m. tomorrow. Once the deadbolt slid into place, the real fun began.

“Hey! Hey! Hey, Spidey!”

Spider-Man narrowed his eyes and continued to scan beyond the arcade cabinet’s monitor. “Shhhhh!” he hissed through his teeth, body unmoving. Today was his first day being aware, and he didn’t think he knew enough about the giant adult male who held the keys and had just left this establishment to be trusting enough to let down his guard completely. Maybe he was a worker, or maybe he was the owner. Maybe he was done for the night, or maybe he would be back. Either way, Peter wasn’t sure of anything. All of those possibilities were possible and required more observation before he could come to a reasonable conclusion on how to properly react in this new situation.

“Ay! Webs!”

“What!?” Spider-Man finally cracked and whirled around in his high score box. If his teammate was going to shout and blow their cover, there was no point in staying still. Besides, they appeared to be alone now.

“Hi,” Deadpool reached out of his own scoring box with a red and black hand and waved. The corners of his eyes scrunched up in what might have been a smile, but Spider-Man wasn’t certain. “Uh, yeah. Hi,” he replied back to his weird teammate and turned away once more to resume surveying the arcade floor.

“Pretty epic team-up we had today, huh?” Spidey grimaced but kept quiet. “I like your mask,” the other fighter went on, gushing like a starstruck fan, “it looks a lot like mine!”

“Huh,” Spider-Man peered back over at Deadpool. “Well, I’m pretty sure I had this design first.”

Deadpool simpered in his box. “Nah, nice try. I’m definitely older in canon.”

“[Doubt it](https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Amazing_Fantasy_Vol_1_15),” Spidey huffed and looked away again. “Could you, uh, stop bothering me? It’s kinda late, and I’m sorta tired. Long day on the leaderboard and all…”

Though Captain America had been present throughout their exchange, he’d remained silent. Deadpool took Spider-Man’s dismissal as an opportunity to withdraw from him and begin chatting their other teammate up. “Yeah, sure, whatever ya say, Spides! Yo, Cap!” He spun around in his box and dipped his head out. “Good work out there man! Thanks for having my back in the final match! It was super cool when you burst out at the end of my special and gave ‘em the old [ STAR AND STRIPES](https://youtu.be/wJb7rC-3JPw?t=3)!”

Captain America chuckled good naturedly from his own location on the opposite side of Deadpool. “You did well yourself, soldier.”

“SCREEEEEE- you called me _soldier_!” Deadpool half threw himself out of his high score box. “Oh em gee, Cap! You really know how to butter a guy up, huh?”

Uncomfortable with that comment because he didn’t quite understand the nuance, Cap cleared his throat. “You are indeed a skilled fighter, Deadpool. I think any team would be lucky to have you.”

“Most def,” Deadpool concurred, rattling off a couple instances in their last couple matches where he’d pulled out the _sickest_ of moves. “I’m pretty durn great, ain’t I?”

“[Except when you switch out the wrong way](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1axvj9vs1Xg&feature=youtu.be&t=80),” Spider-Man muttered under his breath, not turning to look.

“Excusez-moi, did you have something to add, little spider?”

Swiveling around in his box to face Deadpool, Spider-Man shrugged. “You heard me, congrats. My point is, I think each fighter is great in their own way, but not one of us is any more superior than any other fighter. That’s the point of balance in-game.”

“Phfft,” he heard a snort, “and that’s where you’d be wrong. [ Sentinel dominated in CvM 2](https://www.eventhubs.com/tiers/mvc2/). We’re ALL lucky he’s not in this installment.”

“I have no idea who you’re even talking about,” Spider-Man shook his masked head.

“Figures,” his teammate shrugged. “Omniscience is kinda my thing, video game reality or not.”

“Uh-huh, well then,” Spider-Man turned back around and sank down below the lower lip of his scoring box. “I’m gonna call it a day.”

“Yeah a’ight, you totes do that. Don’t mind me, over here, just watching yo-”

“What!?”

“Nothing! Don’t you worry your little webbed head over it!”

And so it went for the remainder of the week that team Captain America, Spider-Man, and Deadpool stayed on the top of the high score board until the following weekend when they were finally dethroned from first place by a new powerhouse team of three lovely ladies, Morrigan Aensland, She-Hulk, and Chun-Li. After that, it didn’t take much longer for them to get booted out of the top three completely by the end of night. Without a reason to remain in their cramped leaderboard boxes, Deadpool and Spider-Man were now free to roam the open inner space of their gaming cabinet. Other MvC3 characters, who had seen less gameplay rotation during the week and thus not ended up on the leaderboard, had already met and welcomed a handful of foreign travelers or wandered off to explore the various other games in the arcade. Tonight was finally Deadpool’s chance to go out and investigate what lay beyond his cabinet, and he knew just who he wanted to ask to join him on this adventure.

All week long, he’d spent time whittling away at Spidey’s defenses. Though the guy seemed uppity at first glance, he was actually pretty laid back and quick with the quibs when he wanted to be. Heck, Deadpool had even gotten him to ugly laugh the night before they finally got kicked out of the leaderboard’s top three. If he could make Spidey snort over [ pineapple](https://youtu.be/3nZvZn76lnk?t=1) jokes, he could ask him out for a drink.

Readjusting the katanas on his back, Deadpool sauntered on over to where Spider-Man was having an intense conversation with Iron Man about their suit’s different mechanics. The man in the armored suit’s arc reactor flared to life as soon as Deadpool got within ten feet of them, and he swung a pulsating repulsor, located on the palm of his hand, up at Deadpool’s head in warning to back off.

“Yoooo, Iron Maiden, take it easy! This isn’t a real match! Don’t tell me you’re still salty that I [ bang-bang’ed](https://youtu.be/Jqk_8Um2SGs?t=3) you this morning!” He couldn’t tell if the slitted light filtering out of Iron Man’s mask was just designed to look that way or if he’d managed to piss the guy off more than usual.

“Pool?”

Hearing his intended call his name, Deadpool shifted his gaze over to Spidey. Guy was looking stunning as always, spandexed body another sort of bangin’. “Web-head! Long time no see!”

“Phfft, we just saw each other this afternoon,” his spidery friend clarified. “What do you want?”

“Oh uh,” Deadpool scuffed his red boot against the ground, “nothin’ big. Just uh, was wondering if’n ya wanted to…”

“Is he bothering you, Spider-Man?” Iron Man asked, still not lowering his charging repulsor beam. Thankfully, Spidey saw that and brought a hand up to point it down and away from his old teammate. “If I’m 100 percent honest, yes, when is he _not_ bothering me?” Acting offended, Deadpool scoffed and laid a hand over his heart.

“But,” Spider-Man went on, turning back to face Deadpool, “we’re also kinda teammates so…”

“Ah,” Iron Man relented and disengaged the repulsor, closing his fingers around the bright glow of blue light. His suit whirred down as it let go of the charge.

“We’ll talk more later,” Spidey promised and waved off his new Marvel super friend. “So you were saying, Pool?”

“Did ya mean it?”

“Mean what?” Spider-Man asked, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his stance into a more defensive one. His body language contrasted sharply with how he’d been talking casual with Iron Man.

“That we’re more than just acquaintances? That we’re…” Pool held his breath for added dramatic effect, “Teammates?”

“Well, when you say it all creepy like that, no, we’re definitely only acquaintances unless we’re on the same team pummeling the crap outta everyone else.”

“But of course,” Deadpool laughed and reached down to readjust [ his teleportation belt](https://youtu.be/TxlCTiYaOSA?t=38). “So uh, anyway, was wondering if…” Spider-Man tilted his head to show that he was listening. “Akuma said there’s a pretty cool cabinet in the retro part of this arcade. Doesn’t see much action during the daytime, but the playable character serves drinks to anyone who stops by with something to trade from their own game. I might just happen to have a coupla extra pineapples on me tonight, if ya know what I mean.”

Spider-Man dropped his arms and put a hand on his hip. “Oh?”

“Y-yeah,” Deadpool laughed, surprised by how well this was going despite his nervousness. “Didya, uhm, wanna come with me? I haven’t been outside the cabinet yet, but it looks pretty rad out there and there’s gotta be loads more to explore!”

Spider-Man paused to consider the offer, but the time it took for him to come to a decision was agonizing; it was almost like he knew what his apparent reluctance was doing to Deadpool. “If I agree to go, and this is purely hypothetical, you promise to stop greeting me in-game with that [ horrible broadway musical shtick](https://youtu.be/1WuNY6qViYQ?t=67)?”

“I… can try, but [ I make no promises because it’s true](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spider-Man:_Turn_Off_the_Dark#Cast_injuries_and_additional_replacements),” Deadpool said. “Can’t always override my hard coding in the heat of the moment.”

“Fair,” Spidey agreed and began walking off in the direction of their cabinet’s arcade connection outlet.

“Whoa, whoa, wait, you… you’re actually gonna go!?” Deadpool half-asked, half-shouted as he raced over to catch up with his part-time teammate and now, for sure, full-time acquaintance. Spidey shrugged as he turned back to Deadpool. “Why not? I mean, what else have we got to do all night while the arcade’s closed?”

Deadpool burst out laughing and linked an arm with one of Spider-Man’s before dragging them both over to the game central train station. “Each oooooootttthhhheeeerrr,” he howled in excitement as they hopped onto the last car before it departed the outlet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Leenie and [doctoring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctoring/pseuds/Doctoring) for beta'ing!


	4. I'm Hooked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Crush  
>  **Rating:** G  
>  **Summary:** A strange man with his cute little dog keeps wandering into the wrong section of the pet shop looking for help. While his specialty may be in aquatic pets, Peter loves all animals… even big goofy guys who always seem to run into him.  
>  **Notes:** Inspired by a conversation I had with [doctoring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctoring) about what animals Peter and Wade would likely own. We both agreed that Wade is a dog person while Peter is an exotics no-touchy-the-pet kinda guy, ergo now you are stuck with this Pet Shop AU you didn’t even know you wanted.

* * *

  
Peter didn’t think anything of it when someone loudly cleared their throat behind him while he was elbow deep in a fish tank. That kind of thing happened on the regular during normal business hours, and he was often the only employee never overwhelmed with would-be shoppers. Not a lot of demand in his department, sadly.

Aquatics was Peter’s specialty, and he loved fish most out of all the pets his store handled and sold. Making sure he squeezed out the algae scraping sponge before setting it down, Peter offered a quick, “Just a second,” over his shoulder before reaching into his back pocket for a towel to dry off his hands.

He took a step down from the third rung of his ladder and chanced a glance at the person who’d summoned him. It was then Peter caught sight of one of his favorite pet owner tropes, the big, burly man with his itty-bitty dog. What made this particular customer interesting was his ridiculously large stature and the heavily scarred appearance that he seemed desperate to cover up, going so far as to hide under the shadow of a baseball cap inside of a dark oversized sweatshirt with the hood up. His little Yorkshire terrier, on the other hand, was bedazzled from head to toe in a hot pink vest with a matching polka-dotted leash. She was obviously a girl from the charming little bows that were tied in front of her ears. Peter found their combined look kind of cute.

And while it was a little strange to see someone using their dog and her very bright attire as a distraction to deflect attention from himself, this wasn’t the first time Peter had dealt with a person who was… different.

“Can I help you, sir?” He tried to put as much indifference into his words as possible. Working in customer service for the past half a year had prepared him for something like this, and he was going to treat this man with as much respect and kindness as he hoped he’d be treated had their positions been switched.

“Well, uh.” His voice was deep, and the big guy chuckled lowly, running a large scarred hand over the back of his clothed neck. “I think Sweetpea and I got lost somewhere between the front door and the doggie aisle. You mind helping us get reoriented?”

Peter cracked a small smile, tucking his hand towel back into his jeans. “Yeah, sure,” he chirped and collapsed the ladder to prevent anyone else from climbing on it while he was gone. You wouldn’t believe how many kids _and_ adults thought an open ladder was an invitation to play around in the fish section. The last thing he needed was a reason to get in trouble with his supervisor.

They walked a couple hundred feet, and then Peter was pointing out the dog food, toys, and apparel aisles. He suspected that this particular customer would be interested in that as he’d noticed the man’s pup had on pastel pink taffeta tutu under her equally decorative harness. While Peter might never own a pet he’d need to touch and interact with physically, he could respect that some people liked to go the extra mile and dress up their fur babies.

Though the guy seemed appreciative for Peter’s help, he was quiet for most of the tour, only nodding and hming politely after each thing Peter said. Once the man appeared sufficiently assisted, Peter dismissed himself and wandered back over to his section of the store. A mother was already waiting for him with her son, who didn’t look like he could be more than five years old. Both were staring intently at a tank of comet goldfish, and Peter knew that look a mile away. Within minutes, he had already forgotten about the guy he’d helped previously. There was always at least one trouble customer like this lady and her son where he had to give the whole _just because a fish looked easy to take care of, it still required a bit of diligence to keep happy and healthy other than just changing filters and feeding so therefore it should not be a child’s first pet_ spiel.

The rest of his day went on uneventfully.  
  


* * *

  
After a week went by, Peter barely remembered his run-in with the unusual customer who’d somehow gotten lost in his section of the store. That is until it happened again.  
  
This time, instead of getting caught in the middle of cleaning a tank, Peter was restocking filters and re-facing pumps and other supplies in one of the aisles. Again, it wasn’t wholly unusual for someone to seek him out if other employees were busy in their own respective zones. He heard the click-clacking of tiny nails on the linoleum and turned his head to see the same guy, dressed nearly the same as before, with his cute little dog approaching. Today she was in a bright aqua set trimmed with fluorescent magenta while he was wearing a dark red sweatshirt with the hood lowered, baseball cap still in place. His puppy wagged her tail and let a happy pink tongue loll out of her mouth. They stopped just short of Peter’s restock pile, and it was the first time he could clearly make out some of the features on the man’s face. Peter was stunned speechless.

The guy broke out into a smile, teeth barely showing past his chapped lips. “Hey. Us again.”

“Oh, hey.” Peter finished hanging another set of six cartridge filters on a hook before standing up and dusting off his knees. The floor shouldn’t be dirty, but he didn’t want to chance it. “Good to see you again,” he offered to the man’s dog and then turned his attention to her owner. “You, too,” he chuckled, thinking himself pretty funny.  
  
“How can I help you both?” He felt that was a safe question to ask as they’d not exchanged names the previous time. Peter’s name, however, was proudly displayed on his work badge so there was that to contend with though hardly anyone ever bothered to read it. And while he was pretty sure that this guy’s dog had a name that started with “Sweet” (sweetiepie, sweetheart, sweet tea...?), it could have just as easily been a nickname. He didn’t want to seem presumptuous.

“Well...” The big man rocked back on his heels and did that same silly gesture where he reached up to scratch at the back of his head. “We’re uh… looking for the groomers today. I set up an appointment last time, but wouldn’t you know it, totally forgot where it was and figured someone else might be able to help me get checked in quickly. I don’t want my honey to miss gettin’ her nails done or her hair did.”

That was… a little odd. If the guy could find the place by himself the time before, why did he need help now? Before Peter’s dumb mouth could vocalize that thought aloud, his smart brain rationalized that maybe this man was nervous about the way he looked or maybe he was looking for some kind of emotional support to counter that anxiety. If their roles were reversed, Peter thought he might also appreciate someone accompanying him, too. Instead of acknowledging it, Peter nodded and gestured for the two of them to follow him on the short trek to the grooming salon.

Gwen was on duty today, and when they walked in, she was in the middle of buzzing a fluffy bichon frise who was trembling where it was tethered to the grooming table. White floof was floating all around the room, and Peter had to ring the service bell to get her attention.

“Oh! Pete!” Her clippers shut off. “Didn’t hear ya come in bud!” The bichon stopped shaking now that the very loud and terrifying noise had subsided. “What brings you out of aquatics and onto my side of the store?” She walked over to the front desk inside the groomer’s quarters and started searching for her wireless mouse.

“Got a customer for you,” Peter nodded his head behind himself where the big guy he’d led over was hunched down behind him. Gwen had to stand on her tip-toes to see who he was referring to, but her face lit up the moment she recognized him.

“Mr. Wilson!” She beamed, moving to open the swinging door and step out to greet him properly. “Did you bring my sweetest little pea back?”

“Course,” the guy said softly and came out from behind Peter with Sweetpea in his hands. His hood was back up, but Peter didn’t remember seeing him do that. Sweetpea wagged her tail extra excitedly the moment she saw Gwen. Her heightened reaction to Gwen wasn’t unexpected; after all, Gwen had become a groomer _because_ she had such a strong affinity with dogs.  
  
“Well, I guess, uh,” Peter wandered over to the door to see himself out. “You guys are all set.”

Gwen and Mr. Wilson turned towards him. “Thanks!” they both replied with varied degrees of excitement at the same time.

“Oh, Peter! Before you leave, you _have_ to meet this little cutie pie. She is just- augh!” Gwen finished unintelligibly as she walked over with Sweetpea, who was still on her lead. The action had her owner fumbling to unclip it so that she didn’t get yanked by the neck needlessly.

“Hey, Sweetpea,” Peter murmured softly, reaching out to pat her gently on the head.

“She’s such a doll,” Gwen gushed. “Lets me change her bows out and everything without a fuss! I think it’s because she has such a good dog daddy.”

Mr. Wilson flushed lightly at the praise but said nothing in return.

“Alright, you’re free,” Gwen dismissed Peter with a wave of her hand and walked back behind her grooming desk. “Go back to tending those fish before they try and jump tank!”

Peter nodded, just barely catching the shy wave Mr. Wilson gave him before he walked out. He returned the gesture kindly. It was kind of nice to see that someone else had embraced this curious customer too. The guy deserved to be treated with dignity and respect as much as anyone else.

He didn’t get to dwell on that thought for long because by the time he returned to his section, there was a teenager already waiting for him. The poor kid was a mess, fretting about what medications he needed to buy now that his betta fish was suddenly looking sickly.

Peter sighed and got back to work.  
  


* * *

  
Four hours and one 15 minute break later, Peter got a call on his walkie, asking him to come over to the groomers. He looked down at his watch and noted it was well past six o’clock. Sometimes he’d get called over to different areas of the store if another worker needed a body to man their station while they completed some miscellaneous task. Tonight, Gwen was in the process of closing up the pet salon and had to take some dogs out for a last-minute potty break. Peter would need to stand behind the grooming desk and wait for any remaining owners to come and pick up their freshly pampered pets until she came back.

Sure enough, Gwen was trying to push the salon door open with three leads on three big dogs tugging her in every direction but the one she wanted them to go in.

“You remember how to use the check-out function, right?” She asked, only half-looking at him as she struggled with the dogs.

“Yep,” Peter said and held the door open for her so she could tug her unwilling guests out of the grooming salon. His first position in the store, before being promoted to fish lead, was as a cashier. It wasn’t work he’d done in a while, but most point of sale systems were the same. He should be able to handle looking up a person’s last name, checking that their pet was picked up, and printing out a scannable pay receipt. Besides, Gwen only had three dogs to walk. She’d back soon enough even if he did experience some kind of issue.

Stepping into the back to see how many more dogs were left awaiting pick-up, he caught sight of Sweetpea lying down in her cage. She lazily wagged her tail in greeting when her eyes landed on Peter’s face. He was about to stick his fingers through the bars to pet her when the service bell chimed at the front desk. 

“Be right there,” Peter called out and gave her an apologetic look before turning back around. He was not prepared to see her owner so soon, already waiting for him on the other side of the counter. Mr. Wilson looked more or less as he had earlier, but without his baseball cap under the hood. The moment his eyes landed on Peter, his body language shifted. He broke out in a wide grin seeing that it was just the two of them, and Peter couldn’t help but feel momentarily dazzled by it. His attitude now was a far cry from how he’d behaved all the previous times they’d met. Maybe he was finally feeling comfortable?

“Uh, hi,” Peter intelligently replied, caught off guard by Mr. Wilson’s smile.

“Well, hello yourself!” He walked up to the counter and placed a covered elbow down to lean on. “Fancy meeting you here, wasn’t expectin’ it. Seems kinda… _fishy_ to me,” he casually joked.

Puns had always been Peter’s weakness. “Any fin is possible,” Peter replied before he could stop himself.

It was that cod awful exchange that broke down any remaining walls. He watched aptly as Mr. Wilson’s eyes widened and his smile grew larger still. “Aw, come on, you can do betta than that.”

“I’m not nearly as so-fish-ticated as you,” Peter’s poker face finally cracked, and he had to bring a hand up to stifle his laughter.

“Guess, I better scale it back then, huh?”

A high-pitched whine interrupted their playful banter, and Peter was immediately reminded of why Mr. Wilson was there in the first place. “Oh no, Sweetpea!” He whirled around and rushed into the back. “Just one sec, I’ll go get her for you!”

Sure enough, Sweetpea was standing up, wiggling impatiently in her cage and crying for her owner. Peter quickly undid the latch and gathered her up into his arms. She was soft as cotton and smelled just as sweet as her namesake. Gwen had done a fine job from her bright yellow bows all the way down to her pink painted toes. Walking her back out to Mr. Wilson, Peter gently passed her off over the counter and woke up the computer to finish the check-out process.

“Sorry about that,” Peter apologized. “Might have gotten a little carried away.” He typed in the letters W-I-L and scrolled until he found Sweetpea’s listing. Right next to her name was her owner’s own, Wade. So he was a double initial too… Peter tried not to think about it too much as he ticked the pick-up box and printed a copy of Wad-Mr. Wilson’s bill.

“Well, I hope it was by the current then!” Mr. Wilson flashed him another brilliant smile and added a wink for good measure. “Don’t stress, y’all made her look fabulous, and it was a great oppor-tuna-ty getting to chat with ya.”

Passing off the receipt, Peter wished the big man and his little dog a goodnight and waved the two of them out of the salon. He was still standing there, equal parts impressed and dumbstruck at Mr. Wilson’s apparent love of puns, when Gwen returned from her walk. Peter was definitely going to be hard-pressed to forget about Sweetpea and her owner, Wade Wilson, now.  
  


* * *

  
A few nights later, Peter was heading towards the back to take his last break of the evening when a middle-aged woman stopped him to ask for a very specific brand of bird seed. He offered to lead her to the aisle that housed all of their aviary products but tried his best to dissuade her from relying on his opinion as he knew very little in the way of birds or their diets. Still, she continued to insist he help her compare products despite his limited expertise once he got her there. By the time they were finished, he’d nearly missed the entire window for his break period.

Trying to save whatever few precious minutes were left, Peter opted to take a shortcut through an adjacent aisle and happened to catch sight of Sweetpea and her owner, Mr. Wilson, looking intently for something in one of the fish aisles. He would have called out to them and happily spent the remainder of his break seeing what other fishy puns they could come up with, but MJ, another one of his work friends as well as his assistant manager, beat him to it.

“Can I help you, sir?” he overheard her ask. She looked the same as ever, bright red hair loosely curled around her shoulders and a soft smile on her face. There was nothing about her tone or posture that should have come off as threatening, but she startled Sweetpea and her owner all the same.

“WHOA, GEEZ!” Mr. Wilson jumped and whirled around, freehand reaching up to make sure the hood of his sweatshirt didn’t fall off his head. Peter watched from afar as the man’s loose stance tightened up, immediately shifting into a more defensive position. Even Sweetpea yipped at MJ. The reaction was strange coming from such an otherwise friendly dog. It was almost like she was feeding off the anxious energy radiating off her owner.

MJ startled a little at the deep baritone of the guy’s voice. She took a step back and held up her hands in a calming, placating gesture. “S-sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to scare you, but you looked… lost. This is the aquatics section.” She pointed one of her green lacquered fingernails down at his dog. “Were you looking for our canine department?”

Peter kept hidden but watched their interaction intently.

“Lost?” Mr. Wilson crossed his arms over his chest, Sweatpea’s hot pink lead still in hand, and puffed up to look menacing. Most of his face was hidden in shadow from far away, but Peter could make out a little of the familiar scarring he was now familiar with. To someone like MJ, however, who had never had the pleasure of meeting him before, Mr. Wilson might actually look kind of threatening. “I’m not lost,” he corrected her tersely. “I know exactly where I am, little missy, and we won’t be needing any of your help.”

“Well,” MJ dropped the cordial act, beginning to reflect the same hostility she was being given. “If you don’t need my help, then you won’t mind me asking what brings you in this evening?”

“I ain’t lookin’ to steal if that’s what you’re gettin’ at,” the big sneered and gave her a heated glare. Sure, his stature and thuggish-looking attire might appear shady on the surface, but Peter found it hard to believe that a man walking as pretty a princess as Sweetpea could arise _that_ kind of suspicion. He swallowed thickly, seeing MJ return the guy’s glare when he didn’t respond approptiately to her question.

The tension grew thicker.

“Sir,” she pulled out her managerial tone of voice, which sounded a lot like a mother scolding a disobedient child. “I’m going to have to ask you to lower your hood while you’re in the store. Company policy I’m afraid.”

Peter’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Oh boy, this definitely wasn’t going to end well. He thought about doing something brash to try and salvage the situation. Still, he knew better than to undermine MJ’s position as the assistant manager when she was already engaged with a customer.

“No, thanks,“ Mr. Wilson shot back, reaching down to swipe Sweetpea up off the floor and cradle her under one of his heavily muscled arms. “We were just on our way out.” And sure enough, instead of escalating the situation and demanding to see MJ’s superior like every other huffy customer who felt they’d been snubbed, Mr. Wilson spun on his heels and stalked out of the store.

It was a very uncharacteristic reaction to someone like MJ, and Peter would have snuck off to finish the rest of his break on his own, forgetting about everything he’d just witnessed, except his presence hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed.

“Hold it right there, Parker,” MJ called out to his retreating back.

“Yes?” Peter spun around to face his red-headed friend making her way over to him. She eyed him up and down, eyes still narrowed.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your break right now?” she asked. “Pretty sure I told you to take one like ten minutes ago.”

“About that, there was this lady, and she-” Peter tried to explain, but MJ cut him off.

“You,” she poked him square in the chest, “break. Now. It’s the law, and I don’t want to get in trouble!”

“Sure, sure,” he promptly agreed and bee-lined back towards the employee lounge. Peter made it about five steps before he thought better of something and turned around to face his still sullen coworker. “Hey, MJ?”

She was in the middle of taking a couple slow, deep breaths. It was a tactic she and other managers often had to employ after dealing with particularly difficult customers who heckled them. Regardless of her own upset, she still nodded, acknowledging that she’d heard him.

“Next time that guy comes in, lemme know on the walkie. I can handle it.”

She raised an eyebrow at him but shrugged. If he wanted to handle troubled folks and play hero like it would ease her stress, she’d let him.

“ _If_ he ever comes back,” she said, the tension from her shoulders finally dropping and a smile returning to her face. “I only ever feel that level of hatred when someone’s mad I won’t honor their three-month-old expired coupons.”

“Definitely a mood.” Peter laughed with her to help lighten the mood but didn’t bother telling her he was absolutely certain that Mr. Wilson would be back… eventually… maybe.  
  


* * *

  
Days passed, but Peter didn’t see hide nor hair of Mr. Wilson or his Sweetpea. It was just as well, he supposed. Not everyone needed to come to the pet store every few days. In fact, most people only stopped in on an as needed basis. The only ones who regularly frequented the store on a weekly schedule were those who worked there, like Peter, or little old ladies who used it as an excuse to get out and socialize, like the current customer he was helping decide which scratching post would be best for her cat.

How he always managed to get roped into helping folks in sections other than aquatics, he’d never know. It was almost like his store hadn’t even hired people to work in the other areas like live animals and felines. He promised himself he’d complain to MJ about it another time as there was only a half hour before he had to clock out.

Once Mrs. Rose was satisfied with her purchase, Peter excused himself back to his area of the store. He had just finished testing the shrimp tank’s pH when a sharp whine drew his attention. Up by the bettas and live plants, Sweetpea was wagging her little tail eagerly. Her lead led up to the hulking form of Mr. Wilson, who was staring intently at him without his baseball cap on, for once. It was a nice change from his usual attire and allowed Peter to finally see the vivid blue of his eyes.

“Hey again,” Peter said, walking over and kneeling down to pat Sweetpea on the head. She lapped at his fingers, likely smelling the fish. He stood up and wiped his hand on his pants before offering Mr. Wilson a smile. “Was worried you wouldn’t be coming back.”

“Come back, I- oh.” Realization slowly dawned on Mr. Wilson’s face. “You uh, saw that, huh?”

“Wasn’t trying to be nosy or anything,” Peter explained. “I was on my way to take a break and, uhm, kinda ran into it.”

“Ah.” Peter watched Mr. Wilson look away and scuff his foot in embarrassment against the linoleum floor. “Is she your friend?”

“Sometimes, but only when she’s not being my supervisor,” Peter joked. That earned him a low laugh and helped to diffuse some of Mr. Wilson’s unease.

“Guess that means I should apologize then, right?”

“Nah,” Peter shrugged. “MJ’s got some pretty thick skin. I think she’ll be all right. Was there something I could help you with-”

“Wade,” Mr. Wilson spoke over him as he side-stepped Peter and walked towards the back, closer to the tanks. “ _Sir_ was my drill sergeant, but yeah, there is something I think you can help me with…?”

The way he elongated the word meant he was asking for something, something equivalent to the first name that he’d just freely given Peter.

“Peter, my name’s Peter.”

“Well, bless my _sole_ , it’s nice to finally know yer name, Peter.”

“Wait. Was that supposed to be a fish joke?”

“Aw, you cod me,” Wade chuckled and stopped short in front of the big goldfish tank. “Been thinking about setting up an aquarium these days but know next to nothing about fish. Was kinda hopin’ maybe you could...”

“Help?” Peter finished for him, and Wade nodded in response. “Sure, fish are kinda my specialty,” Peter told him before he stopped to peek down at his watch “Oh, but I gotta clock out in a few minutes.”

Wade’s enthusiasm deflated a little bit at that. “Don’t wanna hold ya up if you got somewhere to be, Petey.”

“Eh,” Peter looked back up and flashed him a semi-goofy grin. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind staying to help you out because I know more about fish than anyone else, and I don’t think I could sleep well tonight if salmon else helped you set-up your first tank instead.” They both laughed loudly at the horrible pun.

“Aw, that one was eely bad, Peter, even for you,” Wade commented, leaning down to pick up Sweetpea and introduce her to the fish in front of them. After Peter clocked out, he came back to educate Wade on all the different kinds of fish and set-ups that would be ideal for a beginner’s tank.

Unbeknownst to them, two pairs of eyes were watching from the other side of the store. “That the guy?” Gwen turned and gave MJ a look.

“Mm-hm,” she nodded, leaning back against the wall outside the grooming salon and crossing her arms over her work polo.

“No wonder he was so mean to you. Guy doesn’t look like he does well with any kind of competition,” Gwen giggled, having just figured out what was going on. “How long you think before he notices? The _I got lost again_ and _help me with xyz_ excuses only work so many times,” she reasoned. 

MJ popped her gum and rolled her eyes. “If it’s Peter? Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [bisexualbarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualbarry/) for beta-reading and cheering me on.


	5. Out of the Pan and Into the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** First Kiss  
>  **Rating:** PG  
>  **Summary:** Wherein Wade’s immediate response to arguing with Peter is to puff up and act big and tough. But if Peter Parker is anything, he is not a pushover.  
>  **Notes:** Inspired by a very lovely artwork from the artist, [shacklefunk.](https://shacklefunk.tumblr.com/) You'll have to go digging unless I get permission to link it.

* * *

Peter’s phone buzzed in his hidden side pocket, and he finished webbing a wannabe thug up against an alleyway wall before answering it. There was a message from Wade, Deadpool actually, and it said he’d be on his way to Peter’s place in about half an hour. Quickly tapping in a thumbs up emoji and pressing send, Peter turned back towards the guy he’d just stuck to the side of a brick building and speed-dialed the Manhattan police. If he headed out now, he might still have enough time to swing by [The Freakin’ Rican](https://thefreakinricanrestaurant.com/) and pick up a couple dozen tamales before going home and dressing down for tonight’s meet up. Hanging up the call once he’d rattled off the nearest street address, Peter waved a quick goodbye to the small-time crook and shot a web out of there.

It wasn’t like he was in a hurry because he was excited or anything. On the contrary, he and Wade had only started up this casual friendship a few months prior.

There had been an incident the last time they were forced to team up to stop an impromptu alien invasion. Sometime before the attack on Long Island and shortly after an explosion, Wade had inadvertently seen Peter’s face without his Spidey mask on. At least he’d been a decent enough guy to offer to reciprocate the reveal with his own, provided that Peter promised not to be sick once he saw Wade’s real face. True to his word, Peter hadn’t, and shortly after that, the need to keep hiding themselves and their secret identities became increasingly less important. Pretty soon, they were exchanging phone numbers and texts, and then one thing led to another…

Before he knew it, Peter was crashing Wade’s safe house, and Wade was helping himself through Peter’s apartment window to hang out on the weekends. It wasn’t a bad arrangement, and the two of them seemed to genuinely enjoy one another’s company. That was all it was, nothing more. Peter had already told himself that the little fluttering in his chest whenever they met up wasn’t him catching feelings; he’d discussed this at length in the privacy of his own home, expressly stating it wasn’t allowed and therefore it _would not_ happen.

He made a quick left on 34th avenue and landed next door to the Puerto Rican restaurant before making a bee-line for their back alley. Some cash exchanged hands and five minutes later, he was swinging out of there with two dozen quickly cooling tamales, or pasteles as the chef had called them, in a plastic bag that smelled heavenly of pork and plantain.

It didn’t take him that much longer to get back home to his cozy studio apartment just outside of Flushing. Once inside, Peter slipped out of his Spidey suit and threw it in the hamper. Tomorrow was laundry day, and he was more than happy to dress down into a loose pair of black sweatpants and a white cotton t-shirt. All that was left to do now was toss some water in a deep saucepan and place the tamales in a vegetable steamer to heat them through.

He checked his phone. It was a few minutes before eight, so Peter got the stove set up and started neatly stacking as many pasteles as could possibly fit in the pot before the lid refused to seal. Aunt May had shown him how to do this a long time ago. In all actuality, neither he nor she were good cooks, but they both knew a thing or two about eating and reheating take-out. He’d just turned the burner on to high when there was a knock at the window.

It was Wade in his Deadpool gear, and he was sliding the lower panel of the window up to help himself inside. Peter had long since removed the screen to make his own exits and re-entries as Spider-Man easier, so he didn’t even think twice when the mercenary started coming and going the same route instead of using his front door like a normal human being.

“Yo,” Wade greeted with a wave of a white plastic bag full of what could only be more tamales; they’d planned a tamale party after all, and while Peter could definitely smell the typical pork filling wafting over from Wade’s direction, something was off about it.

Having heightened senses could be a pain sometimes.

“Whatcha got there?” he asked, approaching Pool and closing the window behind him as Wade bent down to take off his combat boots. While neither of their apartments could ever be classified as clean, they at least had _some_ standards about walking around indoors with shoes on, namely that it wasn’t allowed in either of their humble abodes.

Today, [ Pool’s socks](https://www.awesomeinventions.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/SPIDERMAN-SOCKS.jpg) were bright red with a familiar black webbing pattern wrapped all around them. Flattering, Peter thought warmly as he watched Wade pad over to the stove where Peter had left the burner on to reheat their dinner.

“Tamales!” he announced, leaning over to examine the steamed up lid covering Peter’s pasteles. “But whatcha got cookin’ over here?” Reaching a gloved hand up to untuck the bottom of his mask from his collar, Wade slid the material up high enough to expose his mouth and nose to get a better sniff at what was bubbling on the stovetop. This look was pretty standard for Wade, who usually wore his Deadpool costume even when they weren’t out on patrol. In fact, he’d never removed his mask again despite Peter having already seen all of his so-called _horrible_ face.

It was a little disappointing, if he was being honest, because Peter had staunchly kept his promise not to be bothered by the other man’s skin condition. Regardless of the fact that he had already seen Wade in all his unmasked glory, he felt jilted now that the man seemingly refused to trust him despite their relationship having grown closer since. He'd at least thought they were friends.

While he was aware his hurt was an irrational one, and in spite of the fact that the smarter, definitely more rational, part of Peter knew exactly why Wade acted the way he did, it didn't make what he felt any less upsetting.

And because it was obvious Wade still had some unresolved issues with his self-image, Peter made sure to never push Wade into doing more than he was comfortable with. It was the only reason that kept him from addressing it openly. Causing Wade any sort discomfort made Peter feel a _different_ kind of hurt inside. Instead, he chose to ignore it and turned back to the stove.

“Tamales,” Peter parroted his friend’s excitement and walked around Wade to lift the lid off the pot. Hot steam wafted up and, finally, his house smelled right again. While he’d thought they were both big fans of the food, it was surprising to hear Wade retch at the reveal considering its origin and his love of all things Hispanic.

“What?” Peter turned a confused look back at Wade. “I thought you said we were having a tamale party tonight? You don’t like them?”

“Oh, Peter… how cute,” Wade chuckled, meeting Peter’s gaze and crowding into his space a little, “but [ I have one question for you: WHAT’RE THOSE!?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_H89WkFUG2U)”

One of Peter’s fingers found its way into his ear and wiggled around in hopes of dampening the ringing caused by Wade’s yelling. “I told you,” he reiterated sourly, “those are tamales.”

“Well, yeah, you said that but why are they so… _green_?” A deep frown cut across Wade’s face. “Probably a good idea to pitch those buddy, don’t want you gettin’ food poisoning or worse. And trust me, I know worse.”

“What do you mean pitch ‘em? They always look like this! Have you never had one before?”

Wade threw his head back and let out a loud laugh that got Peter’s tinnitus to flare back up again. “I knoooooooow you’re not talkin’ trash about my number one ship, Mexican food and me.” He slung an arm over Peter’s neck and reeled him in closer, big body looming over Peter in that oh so superior way he liked to flex.

Pulling up the plastic bag he’d come over with, Wade readjusted his hold so that Peter could sneak a peek inside at its contents. Something yellow, tubular, and ridged was staring back at him. “Those don’t look like the ones I get from the Puerto Rican restaurant,” he concluded and glanced up at Wade.

“Well, duh, they don’t ‘cuz they’re Mezzican! These are the OG tamal! A’ight sweetiepie,” Wade let Peter go and turned back to the stove. “Where’s your comal so I can heat these bad boys up?”

“Co… comal?”

“Yuh-huh,” Wade nodded and stood up on his tip-toes to root around in one of the higher cabinets of Peter’s kitchen. It was the very same one he would have had to rely on sticky spider powers to gain access to. “You know, a flat griddle. The best ones are made out of cast iron.” After opening three more cabinets, Wade finally gave up and dumped his bag of tamales on the counter in a huff. “HOW THE HELL DO YOU EXPECT ME TO CONVINCE YOU THESE ARE BETTER IF I CAN’T EVEN COOK ‘EM THE RIGHT WAY!?”

“You wanted to cook ‘em on a griddle?” Peter’s confusion remained. In all his years as a consumer of tamales, he’d never once eaten one like that.

“Uh-doy,” Wade sneered at Peter’s bastardized version still steaming on the stove. “I dunno what’s in those, but you gotta roast these ones to get that good corn flavor.”

“Those are made of corn?”

“Yeah, masa’s corn. Why? You got some kind of food allergy?”

“No!” Peter scoffed and looked back over at his own tamales that had now finished reheating. “Just… I thought they were all made the same way. Ya know, with plantain.”

Retching again, Wade dug back into his own bag and pulled out one of the corn-husked monstrosities he’d brought over. “Plantains are just functionally depressed bananas. They look all right on the outside, but unpeel ‘em and get a good look at the inside? They’re awful, got no sweetness whatsoever, ergo they are gross, and I’m not eatin’ ‘em!” Once he’d finished his little monologue, Wade resigned himself to digging back in one of Peter’s cabinets for a frying pan. It definitely wasn’t his ideal, but he groaned that he would make due if he had to.

Peter watched him get set up on another burner and turn the heat on high. “You’re going to incinerate them,” he observed out loud, eyeing the dial set on eight.

“That’s kinda the point,” Wade explained, tossing four of his corn tamales into the pan.

“Suit yourself,” Peter shrugged and walked over to another cabinet to pull out two paper plates. _The fine china for guests_ his Aunt used to joke but really it was about Peter avoiding dish duty once they finished eating.

It took Wade a couple of minutes before he was juggling a couple blackened tamales, still in their burnt husks, onto the plates in Peter’s hands. “Just one,” Peter tsked, shifting what appeared to be his own paper plate out of Wade’s reach before he could add another.

“[SuIt YoUrSeLf](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/mocking-spongebob)!” Wade mocked and snatched up the other plate, dumping all the remaining tamales on it. He then turned around to toss a second set of four into the frying pan and pointedly ignored Peter’s protest that Wade should hold off in case Peter didn’t like the one he’d been given. “Most of ‘em are gonna be for me anyway since you’re still stuck on your weird plantain bullshit.”

Frowning, Peter brought his plate up to his nose to sniff at the strange tamal Wade had given him. He instantly cringed when the burnt smell hit him full force. It wasn’t as bad as nuked popcorn, but it was pretty close. How this smell could be appetizing to someone, he’d never know. Instead of lingering on it any longer, Peter walked over to his pasteles and quickly transferred a few to his plate. He did the polite thing and left a couple for Wade just in case he changed his mind.

Both plates now piled high, they moved their little balancing act into the living room section of Peter’s studio, aka his couch. Wade dropped himself down and lounged back into the beat-up cushions before kicking his socked feet up onto the edge of Peter’s equally janky coffee table. He didn’t waste any time unwrapping his tamales and stuffing a whole one into his mouth where he then proceeded to chew loudly, lips smacking.

Conversely, Peter sat himself down demurely next to Wade and quietly side-eyed him. He didn’t bother to remark on the mercenary’s crude eating habits. They were both kinda slobs if Peter was being honest. Nothing Wade did anymore could shock him these days… except for his weird tamales, maybe. He opted to begin with what he knew, unraveling a pastel and digging in.

They ate in relative silence with only the occasional _snorf_ from Wade as he shoved another one of his tamales into his mouth. Once Peter finally exhausted the entire supply of pasteles on his plate, he was left to stare down the remaining burnt horror that Wade had given him to try. He’d already known he was going to accept whatever Wade gave him, consequences be damned, because part of Peter craved Wade’s approval in all things he did, especially recently. If doing something as simple as eating this weird _comida_ could put a smile on the big guy’s face, it would be worth it.

Peter tentatively unfurled the wrapper, hissing when little blackened pieces of the corn husk stuck to his fingers. Tamal now naked and ready to be eaten, Peter leaned forward to poke at it experimentally. It didn’t look so bad now that the outer, protective layer had been removed. Kinda caramelized, maybe, judging by the darker patches of cellulose that had overcooked from the heat of the frying pan.

Wade must have taken note of his mild reluctance now that he was finished eating his portion and chose that moment to lean over, heavily, onto Peter’s side of the couch. The guy was a wall of muscle; it might have hurt if Peter’s spider-powers hadn’t made him so resilient.

“Do you mind?” He shoved his shoulder into Wade’s to try and shrug him off.

“I see some good ol’ fashioned science happenin’ behind those eyes of yours,” Wade commented, still not budging.

“More like the good ol’ college try,” Peter remarked, thumb and index finger coming together to lift his tamal for closer inspection. He thought he heard Wade mutter something along the lines of _same difference_ but chose to ignore him. Peter sniffed lightly at the foreign food and might have licked it experimentally had he not been tasked with performing before a live and potentially mouthy audience. His heart could barely handle Deadpool’s flirty nature on a regular basis. There was no way the guy was serious, right? Right.

Instead of chasing that train of thought as it left the station, he refocused on the task at hand and brought the tamal up to his lips and gingerly took the tiniest bite possible. He chewed slowly and might have been willing to take another bite had Wade not suddenly beared down him with all of his weight and a scream of, “THAT DOESN’T COUNT! YOU BARELY ATE ANYTHING!”

“Oof!” Air got forced out of Peter. His plate tumbled out of his hands, down to the floor, curious tamal and all. “Wade! What the heck!” He yelled, finally tapping into his reserve of super-powered strength and successfully dislodging his heavy friend. “Do you mind!”

“Hell yeah, I absolutely do! You just wasted a perfectly good tam-”

“Not that!” Peter hissed, “why are you so… so…! Augh!” He shot up from his seat, embarrassed that he’d been startled so badly by Wade’s proximity, and started cleaning the mess he’d made on the floor. Wasting edible food was a sin, but he had no clue where Pool’s feet had been or even if it was polite to five-second-rule in front of a guest, so he wandered over to the garbage once he’d made up his mind.

That was, of course, until Wade decided to jump right in front of him and block his path. “Ah-ah, that puppy deserves a good home… in someone’s belly. You can’t just throw it out!”

Peter’s brows scrunched in irritation. He didn’t know whether to be disgusted or endeared by that comment. “Pretty sure proper etiquette says you’re not supposed to eat floor tamales.”

“Phhft, since when have you ever given two shits about being proper, Ms. Priss?”

Peter side-stepped Wade quickly and pitched everything into the trash bin before Wade could stop him. “Since I had a mini-existential crisis on the couch about the five-second rule, five seconds ago. My mind is made up, trash it goes.”

“Awwwww, Peter, no!”

“Look,” Peter slapped a hand down on top of the garbage lid to prevent Wade from dumpster diving; he was pretty sure the merc wouldn’t go that far, but he did have a crazy healing factor. Who knew what weird ways he might try to test his limits in his spare time. “I’ll concede that, from the little bit I _did_ get to try, your corn tamal wasn’t… horrible.”

“Oh?” Topic changed, Wade seemed to forget about the trashed floor food, at least for now. Peter still hadn’t bothered to remove his hand though. He told himself it wasn’t because he had trust issues. “So it was better then?” Wade asked, his hands coming up to rest on his hips in a sassy pose.

“I didn’t say that,” Peter corrected him. “I just said it was okay.”

“I’m sorry, all I’m hearing is, _thank you, Deadpool, for educating me on what real tamales are_!” Wade chuckled and crept closer into Peter’s personal space, working that same angle from before that he had to have known made Peter squirm with discomfort. He felt his cheeks heat up again; Wade always did this.

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” Peter admonished. “I said no such thing!”

“There ya go again, tryna deny it.” Wade’s grin grew almost feral with the way it cut high along his cheeks. He dipped farther forward, almost pressuring Peter, and it was easy to see how someone as big and imposing as Wade could win arguments using only his mere presence as a weapon.

But if Peter Parker was anything, he was _not_ a pushover.

He frowned again.

“Why do you always insist on doing that?” He leaned back just the slightest, not in retreat but to better look Wade directly in the whites of his mask eyes.

“Intimidation,” Wade answered simply.

“Does it help you win all of your insufferable arguments?”

“Mm-hm,” the merc curled his upper lip just slightly as he moved closer still. “Is it working right now?”

Peter’s frown deepened. Was he reading into Wade’s actions too deeply? Was there any other way to end this weird tension that had suddenly escalated between the two of them? Peter thought about it long and hard but couldn’t come up with anything else. All he knew was that he wasn’t going to let Wade continue to bully him tonight, not anymore. 

“No, not at all,” he stated flatly, reaching up to grab Wade with both hands, one at the collar of his leather suit and the other at the rumpled mask material on the back of his head. “I’m not scared of you.” He yanked Wade down to his level, and they crashed together clumsily into a kiss, Peter’s puckered lips to Wade’s mouth, open in a scream that never materialized.

Peter didn’t get the chance to second guess or feel embarrassed about his inexperience because Wade’s own large hand was already up and resting on the side of his face, gloved fingers curling gently behind the shell of his ear. Using the new hold as leverage, Wade surged forward, deepening their kiss. The action lined up their mouths perfectly like he was desperate for Peter not to pull away, like this kiss meant something more to him. The longer they kissed, the more breathless they both became. There even might have been a little bit of tongue that wormed its way into the mix between them, but Peter was too focused on breathing through his nose properly so as not to detach their mouths prematurely that he didn’t notice nor did he care.

When they finally separated, Wade’s hand having slid down the length of his neck, fingertips resting lightly just over the subtle ridges of his spine, both of them sucked in a greedy gasp for air and locked eyes momentarily.

Wade’s were downturned, like his real eyes were heavy-lidded and half-closed beneath the mask. He looked sort of drunk, and Peter felt his face warm again with the knowledge that he was the cause of that expression. Before he could say anything about the sight the large man before him had become, Wade pitched Peter forward while slumping down to rest Peter’s chin on the top of his heavily muscled shoulder. Their bodies crashed together once more, but with a soft _oomph_ this time, and Wade’s other arm came up to surround Peter in a tight hold.

“Spidey… you really,” he whispered reverently, sounding almost fearful of Peter’s sudden forthright behavior.

“Told ya I’m not scared of you,” Peter smirked, cheeks still burning as he side-eyed the stove top where their leftover tamales had long since gotten cold. He vaguely caught himself thinking that if this was all it took to win future arguments with Wade, he’d be up for the challenge. Apparently, there were plenty of other ways to be just as intimidating as the mercenary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [cheekysstyles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheekysstyles) for beta-reading.


End file.
